


Ice

by cakeengland



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, alternatives to self-harm, holding ice, self-harm ideation, ventfic, written at midnight on a phone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 01:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17888975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeengland/pseuds/cakeengland
Summary: Freezing cold droplets run down the side of your hand, disappearing into the sink. The ice clenched between your fingers is starting to burn your skin and you quickly switch it to your other palm, focusing on nothing but the pain and the way the cube slowly melts away.





	Ice

Freezing cold droplets run down the side of your hand, disappearing into the sink. The ice clenched between your fingers is starting to burn your skin and you quickly switch it to your other palm, focusing on nothing but the pain and the way the cube slowly melts away.

It feels like an eternity, but within a few minutes, the ice is nothing but a pool of water in the bathroom sink. You remain still, tenderly running your fingers along your palms to remember the stinging sensation of the ice.

“Princess?” Zen's sleepy voice calls out from the bedroom. You hold your breath, guilt and shame washing over you even as you reason that holding ice was better than what your thoughts had begged for you to do; tear out your hair, claw at your skin until it burned and scream until your throat was raw and bleeding. Zen calls out again, voice stronger this time, more awake and  _ more worried.  _ “Princess?!” Your heart wrenches painfully at your continued silence, but gods, you can't face him right now. Not like this.

Of course, Zen doesn't go back to sleep, couldn't when he's so worried for your safety. You can't blame him even as you curse it; he loves you, after all, and neither of you have quite gotten over the lingering anxiety and fear.

(You haven't lived in that apartment for a long time, though.)

“Princess, where are you?” Zen calls again, and it's the only warning you get before the bathroom door swings open. Zen's eyes find you immediately and he crosses the room in a few short strides, pulling you into an hug that is as desperate as it is relieved. You almost go to push him away, irrational fear tearing at your mind, but the way his body trembles against you keeps you still in his arms.

You don't dare to return his embrace. Zen stopped wearing a shirt to bed months ago; the chill and wetness of your hands would be a dead giveaway of just what had occured in the bathroom.

He notices after a moment, of course he does. Damn him and how observant of every detail he is when it comes to you. His face softens, merlot eyes filled with concern as he tenderly cups your cheek. “Jagi, what's wrong?”

The love and care of your boyfriend is too much for you to handle in your vulnerable state, and a few sniffles quickly turn to tears. It breaks your heart to see the look on his face, the look you know to mean he is blaming himself for your weakness. The desire to correct him wrestles with your desire to keep your troubles a secret and quickly wins out. You still don't trust yourself to speak, so with trembling hands, you carefully place a palm on his arm.

The signs of Zen's shock are barely visible, noticeable only to you; the slight widening of his eyes, the sharp intake of air and the way his free arm tightens around you. “Jagi, your hands are freezing…” he whispers, eyes flickering to the ice tray besides the sink. You can see the gears in his brain click into place, putting two and two together as he notices the missing cube.

In a second, he's scooping you into his arms, and you bury your face in his shoulder so he doesn't see the shame written across your expression. Carefully, he sits you down on the edge of the bed, kneeling before you and taking your freezing hands in his warm ones. For a moment, neither of you speak.

“I'm sorry,” you finally choke out, and you can't tell if his squeeze of your hands is for comfort or instinctual. “I’m such a mess, I’m sorry, I…”

He shushes you gently, raising your hands to his lips to slowly kiss each finger. It's a tender and sweet gesture, and it calms you, just enough for your rationality to creep back in. “What happened, jagiya?”

You take a deep breath. Faced with his soothing voice and soft, loving expression, the story comes spilling out of you; how, since you were sixteen, your parents either expected you to publish your novel or take on a job that would ruin you mentally, while at the same time not allowing you to work at your prime time, screaming at you if you were awake a minute past eleven. You explain to Zen that everything they'd said to you had resurfaced due to your recent writer's block, and you'd resorted to holding ice to abate the urge to harm yourself.

Zen's eyes narrow, fingers curling into the blankets as you describe a brand of emotional manipulation he's all too familiar with. Without a word, he places a kiss to your hair, then your forehead, your nose, before finally sealing his lips over yours. He pulls back after a moment to whisper, “Don't let them get to you, babe. They know nothing. The road to your dreams might be long, but it doesn't matter, as long as you never give up. You taught me that.”

You start to cry in his arms again, this time for a different reason. Alarm flashes across Zen's expression, but you shake your head before he can even think of blaming himself. “I'm happy, Zen,” you whisper, voice hoarse as you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. He flinches at the chill, but makes no move to get away. “You… You have this effect on me, and it's  _ so good.”  _ You let out a breathless laugh, leaning forwards to rest your forehead against his. “Gods, I love you so much.”

Zen's expression turns to a smile. “Not as much as I love you, princess,” he whispered, tilting your chin up to kiss you again, long, slow and loving, as though he's trying to pour all his devotion into this one gesture.

You pull apart to breathe for a few moments before he's kissing you again, and again, and by the time morning comes, you're laughing and smiling and wondering why you'd let your parents upset you so much in the first place. Zen's here, after all, and you know he'll always love and support you.

What else could possibly matter?


End file.
